


Up the Stairs

by nattycakes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BDSM, Blow Jobs, M/M, Porn, consent given, draco likes to cook though, honestly, i dont know why i do these things, porn with a bit of plot, seriously, shady bdsm, shady bdsm practices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 23:26:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1323196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nattycakes/pseuds/nattycakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco knew it, and now he would work on getting back up those stairs. Back to the room that, for so long, Draco had dreamed of sleeping in again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Up the Stairs

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this about, oh 5 years ago? I finally decided to publish it. It's not been beta'd or brit-picked. Apologies for that.

“Draco, Draco, Draco.” Harry paused for effect; his eyes showed no malice, but his intentions were clear. “What are we going to do with you? I can't leave you locked down here forever. I can't keep you as my pet.” He stroked Draco's face, and Draco flinched just slightly. The mind never forgets pain you know, “Someone would eventually notice.” Harry paused again, the corners of his mouth turned down.

 

Locked down here, key phrase. I will forever be in this basement. It's nice actually, but if you were used to a giant bed, more pillows than you could shake a wand out, walk in closets a house elf could get lost in, then this basement would be your hell. It's mine, but not for the reasons above. I had all of those things, but I also had his. His bed, his shower, his stubble on my cheek in the morning. I had left all this before, thinking I needed something normal. I craved normal wizards, and normal blow jobs. Missionary sex would be inviting after some of the things I'd seen and done. I came crawling back, he knew I would. Once this, this thing is in you, you can't let it go – let him go. I will not fuck this up again. I will do as I am told.

 

When did he get like this, when did Harry Potter like to keep slaves in the basement, when did this become my enjoyment as well. Draco mused. This is not something you can admit with a voice behind it, just something to pass the moments before Mr. Potter would give his commands. But right now, at this moment, Draco would rather be kicked out then leave of his own accord. He was tied to Harry and that was just the way Harry Potter liked it. Harry would never admit it. Draco thought that most of Harry would probably love to see Draco walk back out that door and never look back. No nods at work, no formal hellos at functions. During missions, pretend like as if Draco did not exist. It would be so much easier, if Harry was not willing to give him a second chance. The tides were in Draco's favor. He was never a beggar, but he begged upon his knees to come back. Harry let him -conditionally.

 

“While you are here, you will address me as Sir, only. You do not have the rights you previously held – you left those behind. You should very well know that. What are the rules?” Harry stopped to look at Draco. Draco did not speak. “Good, we remembered something of our former life. You may answer, Draco.”

“Yes, Sir. I remember.“ And Draco shook as if he could never forget, what speaking out of turn meant, what just saying his fucking name meant. Maybe he loved the thrill, but this time he would toe the line just right.

 

It's dark in this basement; there is no false light. There are small candles, and only the smallest amount of sunlight touches the corners. It is very dark, and very lonely. Draco knew that it made Harry feel more powerful, if all attention was focused on him. Darkness is not just a cloak, a mask he could bathe himself in, but it does also allowed for the upper hand and more rapt attention from his submissive. It was easier to study a face when you have to stare at it to see that it's still there. The lines in Harry's face were more defined, Draco noted. He longed to trace the crows' feet around Harry's eyes, and tell him to get some sleep, he was here. All it would get him would be two days of sweet torture and no release, but it could still be worth it. He didn't even want to think about how many lashes that would be for that act of love, he forced himself to stay in the present.

 

“I have written you an actions list, some things have changed, and you would do well to memorize them. As as soon as possible. Meals have not changed; I will see you in the kitchen in one hour. I will keep your wand for now, Draco, but I do have hopes that you... earn your place back soon enough. Get dressed. I have laid out clothes for you.”

And Harry Potter disappeared, back up the stairs and into the life that everyone thought he had. The Harry Potter he was supposed to be, Draco snickered. Only if... come look at my 'quarters', see the real Harry Potter, let him show you a good time. Mind the spiders now, and the cobwebs, they don't do well for your hair as that Sleakeasy potion would suggest.

He got to reading the new manual, and holy Merlin, things had seriously changed.

“Draco,

Keep this manual. I worked tirelessly on it for your benefit. Please do not think that this is a joke, we are starting over, and we are doing it right this time. (Unless you want to leave. You only have to say the word.) I was too easy on you before, too kind. I let too many things slide, because of who you are. If you want this to work, you would do well to follow my rules.

In this glossary, there are new positions, new warnings, and new punishments. You are not mine yet, but if you are good, you will be. “

Draco skipped the positions; it wasn't very likely they would be used this week anyway. He didn't want to get his hopes up too soon. Punishments, now those were what Draco needed to learn right away. Play time was play time, but if this read “10 lashes for saying my name”, again, he wasn't about to goad Harry that way. Well, at least not that soon. Draco smiled to himself; turning to page fifteen, he shuddered, It had gotten worse, much worse.

 

“Punishments are just that Draco, I don't like to give them. I have much better things to do with my time, as do you.

If you say my name, without permission (social functions, work related), it will now be 15 lashes (At the Doms digression, of course. Permitting what I find is correct, it could be less or it could be more.). Swiftly, but not soundlessly. I will tell you in advance if you may use my name, and usually it will only be 'Mr. Potter'. Do not amuse yourself Draco. It will be worse if you try to think of a way out of it. Please do not make me be creative; we both know that physically, you can handle it. I would hate to leave a another scar on such delicate skin.”

 

Draco froze; this isn't what he wanted, really. Sure, he liked this lifestyle, but he wanted to call his boyfriend his proper name, and maybe steal a kiss at work. What would happen if he did wasn't what he wanted, but if you are with Harry Potter, you do as he says. Harry likes liked this lifestyle, Draco supposed, because he has had always been told what to do as a child. Even now, The Boy Who Lived, at work, is was the Boy Who Does What He is Told. Draco could hardly take it; he wanted to yell and say “He saved your fucking life, and you want him to get you your god damned coffee?” and throw it in peoples faces. The only time Draco was snide, well he learned what snark gets him in this basement.

He read through the punishments, and shuddered frequently. He didn't like the sound of most of them, but Harry was not a cruel man. Despite what this paper read, he only meant that he wanted his directions followed, carefully; if they weren't, then the disobedience would be dealt with, he thanked Merlin that none of them included humiliation, but as his Dom, Harry could change that at any time. It was part of that fear the that got Draco off. He loved not knowing what was next.

Draco was however, very pleased at some of the changes,

“The living room, and the kitchen are now yours. You may speak freely in them. You must still address me as I wish, but I will answer you back more openly in these rooms. “

Draco was floored at that. It's almost how he wanted it, almost.

“Two other things items, Draco. I realize that this is not your main lifestyle. I am willing to compromise and allow you that. We may adhere to this life on the weekends; this will be my the set lifestyle at my house. During the week, we may act as how we were, unless a mission or situation arises, I will detail you on them at that time.“

 

Where Draco supposed his heart might be if he had one, it skipped a bit. Harry was trying. He didn't like the sound of “how we were.”, but he could deal, for now. And he would be damned if he would only do this two nights a week. He would take anything that was given to him. He would take a cot and porridge of it meant he could stay here all week. He knew however that that was impossible,

“Wednesday nights and Thursday nights are mine Draco. Do not floo, owl, or use any other method of contact. I will not answer and your presumption will be punished.”

 

This point was from the their previous arrangement, Draco had wondered if it the method of punishment was still intact. It was better not to ask this on the first day though; that's a Sunday morning brunch topic. 

 

“You will have two safe-words this time Draco. To end a scene you are not comfortable with, the safe-word is “pride.” However, I now stipulate the use of another safe-word. You will come up with it, and you may use it to leave and end this relationship. If you no longer feel as if we can continue, use it. I do not want to hurt you. Please give me that word at our first dinner, we can discuss other issues at that time as well.

Yours, Harry Potter.”

Draco loved how that ended with 'Yours, Harry Potter.' As much as Harry liked to delude himself into think that Draco was his, it was all for show. In Draco's warped mind, Harry was his. Just like how it should be. Setting the booklet down, he pondered what his word should be; everything needed to be in that word. What he felt, what he couldn't feel, or do. He felt as if his life depended on that word. Just, just as Harry knew he would.

“Fucking hell Harry, what did we get ourselves into?” he murmured aloud. Fuck fuck fuck, he hoped Potter hadn't heard him say his first name; screwing up so bad on day one would be enough for Harry to call it quits before it even started. He wanted to throw up at the word 'ourselves', there was none of that. It was just him, what did he get himself into. Maybe that is was what Harry wanted? No, Draco wouldn't even let himself think that. He started to change for dinner, with the clothes Harry had placed out for him.

“So, no fancy dinner tonight.” he mused, Just simple clothes: jeans and a shirt in a particular shade of, ice blue, Harry's favorite colour on him. Nearly the colour of his eyes. There was also a simple black robe, which made the paleness of his skin almost shine. Almost.

Less than five minutes to dinner, Draco was horrified at himself. Not only had he not come up with his own safe-word, his only 'duty', tonight, but he just got comprehended the true meaning behind the use of the previous safe-word. 'Pride.' Potter The word was simple and efficient, reminding Draco where he stood: at the. The very bottom. Pride before the fall. Potter knew he would never use that word,word; it would be like cutting his own fucking heart out on the table. When really, isn't wasn't that what he was doing here to start with? Cutting his heart out, starting all over... begging for a new chance? He was nearly sickened, and then it came to him. If Draco's pride gotten in he the way of himself, he could always borrow some of bravery and do what he knew right now, would be best for his own sanity right now. Leave. Leave, and never look back.

His new get out of jail free safe-word was, Bravery. Pride and Bravery.

Oh how the mighty have fallen. Draco smiled, please with himself, and dashed for dinner. It would not do to be late, even though five lashes isn't wasn't much. But he also wanted his wand back. He also and he wanted to ask Harry what the fucking deal was with the secondary safe-word. He understood the need for one safe word 'Pride', it should slow down a scene, start all over, reconnect with the person. It was supposed to be like your a own personal blanket and pillow you just had to sleep with you felt just that, safe. If needed it could stop the scene entirely. What was this? How much more did Harry think he could handle? Now the other safe-word, his own personal safe-word, he had never heard of that before was unheard of. He didn't think anyone would ever do this to someone. Force them to take everything or nothing. A word to end the relationship? He knew that word would never come from his lips. But it wasn't just his lips they could come from. They could come from Harry's. That was the way the pasty crumbled. This word, bravery, made him sick. He forced himself to swallow the bile. All of this was easier said than done, and no time like the present.

He made his way up the stairs (oh how he longed to always be there again), through the hall, to the left, towards the glorious, enviable kitchen. Harry was already seated at the table, but Draco wanted to look around. If the kitchen was really his, then he had all rights too this. But if Harry was already seated with dinner, he wanted to talk. Draco would seat himself, but spend the whole time with his eyes wandering. Harry would disapprove. Better look around at the additions tomorrow (is was that a stainless steel oven cook top?) tomorrow when he would cook breakfast. Omelettes, he decided. This kitchen deserved to have glorious omelettes made in it. He would write out a grocery list tonight to give Harry, usually the kitchen was fully stocked with the basics, knew that Harry would ask for a list anyway. So far on this his mental list had, pork tenderloin, apples, and garlic. Harry never kept garlic. Cooking to Draco was almost like sex. Well, sex with Harry. It was how he could control Harry. It was where he was dominate. In the kitchen, Harry would be on his knees begging for another taste. (Cheesecake.) But it was close enough.

“Draco, please be seated. Have you read over your new book?” One eyebrow lifted; oh he was good. That eyebrow lift made Draco do more than just behave. (Was that all copper cookware that was hanging from the ceiling?)

“Yes sir.” Draco lowered his gaze. He knew that Harry hated to be looked in the eye unless he was given permission-- which was rarely given. “I have had a chance to skim over the basics-,”

Harry cut him off curtly.

“Skim?”  
He raised his spoon to his mouth, slurping slightly. That fucking slurp drove always drove Draco wild. Fuck, Draco himself would admit that there is was nothing Harry could do that was not sexually appealing, if he were allowed to admit express that. Ooh French Onion soup for dinner, at least Harry knew what he liked. But this was his kitchen, he should be the one in control. It's hard to think when the smell of salted onions and cheese is so thick, all he wants to do is swim in it.  
He didn't dare eat until given the permission.

“You may eat Draco, this is your kitchen. In here, you do not have to wait for me to give you my say-so.” Harry smiled. Actually fucking smiled. “Do you have any questions, anything ? Anything you wish to discuss?”

Draco steeled himself. He knew Harry's eyes would flash with anger, and he really wanted to eat his soup. “Do you mind if we finish our meal first?”, There that might calm my his nerves. He looked up at Harry, his eyes full of questions. Would he ask? Or would he fester? Time, I Draco guessed, will tell.

“Of course, Draco, do." Harry watched as he took a sip. "Do you like the soup?” .

“It's still my favorite Sir,” But only when you cook it, he mentally added as they ate the rest.

Silence. Uneasy silence, cards on the table, the lines were are drawn, better get this over with. With the last spoonful of soup he could possible choke down, he pushed his chair back, picking up his bowl, and Harry's as well. It's It was a duty of the submissive, to clean after the other; or as Draco liked to think of it, being polite was simply cultured politeness, since as Harry had cooked. Dished rinsed, dried with a flick of his wand, and put up in one swoop. Draco dried his hands and returned to the table. Hands flat on the table, he was shaking. He hated this, he thought it would make him look weak, but he was the submissive. No two ways around that.

 

“Sir, I skimmed the new request today. I looked over the punishments,” he shuddered, “and some new additions.” He looked up at Harry, gauging his reaction. Playfulness lined Harry's face, and Draco continued. “Thank you for your generosity of giving me the kitchen, and the living room.” The living room was so when Draco had earned the right to do more things, he would be allowed to help pick a TV show that was on. Not that they watched TV, unless the other was sick. The kitchen though, Draco was still taken aback by it.

Harry smiled, pleased. It had not gone unnoticed that he was trying, this time around. “Anything else you wish to discuss tonight Draco?”. His voice even- tempered, the way Draco remembered. It soothed him.

“I have decided on my safe-word, Sir.” He paused, but could not look up. “Bravery.”.

He couldn't see Harry's eyes flashed in contempt, ready for he himself to use it right then. It was underhanded, and he fucking knew it. But if you want wanted something...

“Very well Draco, if you are finished with discussions for this evening, please go up to my room. Let's test and see if we can force that new word out of your pretty little mouth.”. Harry stood up, and walked away. It was his dismissal, and Harry was obviously furious. Why did he have to defy? Why did he choose this first night to fuck everything right up.

Draco was so self- destructive, but with an amazing sense of survival.

Oh shit. Maybe I should have paid more attention to those new positions. Please don't let there be anything new tonight, I don't think I could take it.

This thought ran through Draco's head as Draco marched walked in what he felt was akin to a 'march to the gallows' would feel like. Slow even steps, very weighted. The, the clomps could even as heavy as those coming from a horse. “Dead man walking,.” Should be yelled from behind him. His safe-word hung to the curve of his lips, but he wouldn't dare use it. The words were a show of power; he wished he hadn't already tried to defy him. It only makes his life worse.

He signed up for this. He wanted this, he craved it, he dreamed of being right back here, with an. An actual flesh and bones contract. He. He was ready to take what his Master gave him. And more.

Opening the door, he steeled himself. The fucking bench was out; oh how he loathed that bench. Cherry wood and leather, he still knew the smell of it by memory. It frequented his nightmares. Did Harry expect him to fail on his first day? Or was it a reminder of what he was capable of? Mind games were not usually Potter's forte. But this fucked with all of Draco's senses. He stood motionless, waiting for his Master to enter, head down.

“Position 6 six, Draco, and if you skimmed, it means on your knees.” There was an edge to his voice, pleading almost for him to go away, ' Use it, Use it, don't put me through this again .', may have been what he thought, but what he said was, “I will not be easy on you Draco, I will not be patient. Acts of defiance will gain you nothing. Now, on your knees.”

Draco dropped to his knees, and did not disrobe. It was not asked of him, and he knew that tonight, he would not get any release. That hope was shattered, but his own pride was almost still intact. He would have laughed at himself if he thought he could get away with it.

Harry liked it rough, on both accounts. For him, and for his partner to feel it as well. He was caring in life to everyone, save in this. He was selfish, demanding, and fuck all of it if it wasn't a turn on for Draco to see and hear the Boy Who Lived, come in your his mouth. Now that's power, thought Draco. Even a in his previous life, he could bring grown Wizards to their knees, begging and pleading for more. All he ever got from Harry was, a grunt and a sigh. Like he wasn't good enough; he knew he was, but always that singular grunt and sigh made him eager to please his Master. Willing to prove himself. His Order of Merlin was less than nothing. 

 

“Let's see what all you remember Draco, I hope you didn't forget.” Harry pulled his hair, shoving him close. He was already hard, just as. As Draco recalled, his size wasn't the problem, but as far as dicks could go, Potter was finally blessed with something in life. For once not getting the short end of the stick. He shoved it down Draco's throat.

“All of it,” he uttered in a shaking breath. “Everything I give you, you will take.” He pulled on Draco's hair, dug into his scalp, fucking his mouth, like a common whore who did her job nightly. The taste Draco remembered, salt, sweat and lemon, the taste should gag him and Draco loved it. It was the very essence of Harry Potter. It smelled more bitter than he remembered, he wanted to wrinkle his nose at the smell, but did not want his scalp ripped off either. He relaxed this his throat so this would go easier he. He wanted to close his eyes, but he forced himself to look up at Harry. Such force behind those green eyes, was that lust? Please let that be lust, he thought, please relax, I'm going to do this correctly.

“Put your hands on my hips Draco,” was the command.

Draco dug his nails into those hips, like he was holding on to his last fucking knut. He swore he felt blood on his fingertips, and that only made him grip harder. Harry usually loved that, and Draco was rewarded with a small grunt of satisfaction. He breathed through his nose, and gathered spit at the tip of his tongue, the tight friction at the back of this throat was getting annoying. He wanted to remove one hand from Harry's hip and start stroking his own length. He didn't – he knew better. Harry bucked hard in front of him, his signal for more.

Draco slurped, sucked, twirled his tongue and willed for the sigh to come next. He needed to hear it, he needed to hear that fucking sigh. He put just his lips over the head of Harry's head cock and hummed a lullaby.

Nothing.

He continued humming all the way down the shaft, flattening his tongue to ripple more across the soft skin. When he could feel Harry's pelvis against his lips he did something he never thought of doing before. Humming, he rolled his lips off his teeth, exposing them. He dragged his way back up, begging for his that sigh, but all he got was a quick intake of breath. He started working his way back down. When the bitter taste of come filled his mouth, he was almost more surprised at the amount that had come from Harry; he didn't think he had it in him. Harry quickly patted Draco's head gently, like a child. He always gave some kind of sign that he was going to come; this must have come been as a surprise to him as well. Hello old dog, welcome to the new tricks corner.

 

“You may go back to your bedroom. I require nothing further of you tonight.” Harry said, nearly emotionless, was that fucking sadness in his eyes? I should be sad, Draco thought petulantly, I didn't even get the sigh for crying out loud. “And Draco, I missed you too.”.

When Draco got back down to his room, (his basement, he mentally corrected himself), he nearly fainted. He missed me too, he fucking missed me? When? Did he have obsessive dreams of what was? Two fucking years, years, Draco had thought of his touches. His words, even the expertly bound leather paddle. Missing it, craving it... Did Harry find another submissive when he was gone? Did he search? Or did he stay faithful like Draco did? When he closed his eyes at night, was the smell of Draco's skin so thick in the air that he couldn't sleep that night. He tucked this away for the future, he could use this to get back to where he once was; he would take it at face-value for now but he had to admit, he was almost relieved. He crawled into his bed, (twin, modest sheets, he wanted to huff, he wondered if Harry knew what excellent sheets even felt like, so he wouldn't be scratchy all night.) He was almost ready to face his own choices.

He pulled out a quill from the nightstand, and wrote his modest grocery list. If this was a trial basis, and it seemed that way, then Draco would keep it light. Draco smiled to himself, as he wrote down 'basil', he was right all along. Draco knew it, and now he would work on getting back up those stairs. Back to the room that, for so long, Draco had dreamed of sleeping in again.


End file.
